


...And the Sun Rises on a New Day

by caffienedcold



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dark Will, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 02:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13731486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffienedcold/pseuds/caffienedcold
Summary: Will and Hannibal go over a cliff and are reborn from the sea. At a new point in their relationship, and eager to put some space between themselves and Jack Crawford's grasping hands, they settle in Cuba and let 90 miles of ocean and a vast political rift shield them from the reach of the FBI. But Jack is nothing if not persistant, and he manages to drag them back eventually. Will is not thrilled to be back at the BAU.Season 4, played out in a court battle that really isn't doing Jack any favors.





	...And the Sun Rises on a New Day

After they tumble arm in arm over a cliff and haul themselves out of the ocean, born again as gods, Will and Hannibal start to head south. Bedelia du Maurier provides many a healthy cut of meat for Will and Hannibal to feast on as they regain their strength. They travel slow, carefully out of sight of the FBI, planning their next moves. In DC, Hannibal legally marries Will in the Lithuanian embassy, and gets the newly-minted Lecter family visas to Cuba. They land in Cuba a scant 22 hours ahead of their warrants freezing any travel. They settle in, right at home in Cuba where Europeans in various disgraces are common. A count who married an American fits right in, and they spent the next 7 years as a happy, married couple, darker edges well hidden from their hapless neighbors. Will picks up Spanish to go with his French and Hannibal brings him around to a much better wardrobe. 

It takes Jack Crawford a lot of careful detective work and even more inter-office diplomacy to get the Cubans to accept an outstanding warrant for arrest for two Cuban residents, one American citizen and one Lithuanian green card holder. Interpol sweeps down on them not long after. 

 

They are brought to Baltimore, Will ‘not being detained’ but a prisoner none-the-less, and Hannibal charged with kidnapping and quite a laundry list of other things. He takes the charge gracefully, well aware it will be easier for Will to get them both out if he isn’t behind bars as well. 

But the 7 years have changed Will. No glasses were brought in on his person, no credit cards, and the style was still in Will’s neutral tones, but seemed sleeker. More dangerous. Jack is uncomfortably reminded of the way Will dressed (it feels like a lifetime ago now) to bait Hannibal. When the Baltimore chill sets in, Will turns up with a coat of much better quality than any he would’ve bought before and reports to the BSU with none too much goodwill when Jack calls him to help put together his case against Hannibal.

—  
“Oh, I didn’t realize I was to be your star witness. You really did count on him keeping me like Miriam Lass, didn’t you? What if I told you it was all Bedilia who arranged this?”

“We never found her. Chalked her up to the Ripper like Able Gideon.”

“She was much more tender.”

“Will- this is a legal defense, not a time for witty jibes.”

Will just leans against the desk and looks disdainfully over at Jack. “You want me to testify for you to put a final lock on your career after sending Interpol to none-to-gently drag me out of a very respectable life in Cuba. You do realize what you’re asking? And who you’re asking it of?”

“I’m asking you to not let me down.”

“I was kidnapped. More gently than by your people, too, come to mention it. And then living with Hannibal Lecter for seven years. You trust me to testify against him? You’re that desperate?”

“Yes. I do. You’re the only one that knows what he’s capable of.”

Will’s face twists and he shoulders out of the room, the angry hunch of his shoulders one he knows all too well.  
—  
The next morning, he’s back. Back early, in fact. He’s outside Jack’s office when Jack shows up to it at 7:55am.

“Will.”

“Jack.”

“Good morning, then. What brings you here this early?”

“Why am I not on the approved guest list for Hannibal?”

“Because he kidnapped you.”

Will follows Jack into his office and closes the door silently as Jack sets down his briefcase, refusing to feel threatened by the way Will stands in front of the door, fully upright and piercing eyes fixed on Jack. “That’s not how we’re gonna play this game, Jack. You want me to come to court tomorrow and play nice on the stand and tell the judge he dragged me off a cliff and down to Cuba, you give me full access to him and you keep in mind how much shit you’ve cost me in the last decade when you decide you want to ask for more.”

“And how much ‘shit’ have I cost you, Will?”

“You charged me with murder, dragged my name through the mud, got me stabbed trying to close your pet case, refused to respect my resignation from the FBI, lost me a wife and son, and just hauled me back from fucking Cuba. And don’t think I don’t know how far above your weight class that punch was.” Will shakes his head for a second. “Cuba? Really?”

Jack sighs. “You can hate me for it, I don’t care. But I will put Hannibal Lecter away as the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“Good luck.”

“Are you going to help me with that?” Jack’s tone says he expects Will to say yes.

Will stares back at him, cold and icy hard. “Are you going to put me on the list to see Hannibal?”

Jack cracks first. “Yes. But don’t let him into your head. Don’t talk about the case.” Will has the gall to outright laugh at him.  
—

Will visits Hannibal later that day. The transcript Jack gets is infuriatingly mundane. Will, for some inscrutable reason waxes poetic about the pomegranates he’s missing in Cuba, Hannibal makes a deft quip about Persephone and Hades, Will snorts, and Hannibal compliments Will’s coat. The only tiny drop of interest is that Will mentions being asked to work on the case. Hannibal’s response is obtuse. “Well, then we can’t let dear Uncle Jack accuse me of attempting to bribe the witness. You have all the evidence you need to put the guilty party away.” There’s a scrape of a chair being put back and Will’s sigh before he answers.

“Well, you know me. Upstanding lawman. Unwavering.”

There’s nothing else on the transcript from Hannibal, but Jack doesn’t need text to see his smile.

— 

Will slumps into court the next day. Jack watches carefully, cataloging changes access the four people on the bench between them. Will looks like he’s been to Goodwill and maybe Kohl’s. He’s clad an old field jacket, a dark plaid shirt, cheap khakis and has found a pair of thin tortoiseshell frames to wedge between himself and the world. He looks for all the world like the last eleven years never happened, facial hair trimmed back from casual beard to rough night of stubble. Jack is relieved that Will is back to looking like himself, like a pre-Hannibal self. 

That relief vanishes when Will takes the witness stand with a nervous glance at Jack, and an even faster jerk towards Hannibal. Jack feels cold fear drop through him. Will’s self-possessed confidence seems shattered as well, completely vanished as if it were never there. He takes He gives his name, and his old credentials with the wry, self-deprecating footnote of “I don’t know if any of those are valid anymore, Your Honor. Haven’t been keeping up with my professional development credits, you know.” He is excused from that, and his testimony, as Jack will recall it that night over rather more whiskey than really constitutes a single serving, goes all to shit.

Jack was right about Will’s appearance reading as though the last eleven years had never happened, but he didn’t expect his mental state to match. Will had been a totally different person yesterday- had been a killer himself, full of impetuous demands and unwilling to be manipulated or swayed. Today he’s stumbling over his words, cringing away from any attention on himself. He scrapes though establishing himself as a reliable and capable witness, but his testimony doesn’t bag Hannibal where he stands as Jack had hoped. He can’t recall Hannibal doing much of anything to him bad or good, isn’t even sure that Hannibal was really ever the Ripper, and shades Jack as a driving force toward hasty decisions and Will’s self-flagellating tendencies.

— 

The next morning, it’s Jack’s turn to show up at the ass-crack of dawn, nursing a hangover he blames squarely on the man behind the hotel door in front of him. He’s counting on his 6:30am banging to wake Will up, but Will opens the door seconds after the first round of knocking, already dressed in his costume- that’s what it is, it’s a costume self- this old one. He’s been awake for a while, offering Jack coffee and telling him room service is due with breakfast at anytime. 

Jack doesn’t want food and Will’s shades of Hannibal’s pleasantries, he wants blood.

“What kind of a testimony do you call your act yesterday?”

Will almost looks convincingly taken aback. “Jack, I was kidnapped and kept by Hannibal Lecter for seven years. You wanted him out of my head, you get what you get- which is me before Hannibal.”

“That’s not what I told you! I told you I wanted to put him away, and not to let him get to you!”

“I’m not.”

“You damn well look like you’re trying to make me look like a fool.”

Will bites back, “And how would I go about doing that?”

When Jack doesn’t immediately have an answer for that Will turns his back on him to refill his own coffee, signaling that Jack is not a threat worth keeping one’s eyes on. Jack sees the gesture for what it is and feels his rage swell a little higher.

“You’d go about acting like getting kidnapped was good for you and make me look like I pushed you into becoming a killer. But we know Hannibal’s the Ripper. We got him on that, and you can’t get him out of that.”

Will wanders over to his window. “Do you remember when I was on trial Jack?”

“Vividly.”

“Do you remember how I was exonerated?”

“The copycat killed again.”

Will nods, back still to Jack. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be too cocky about getting to put the Ripper up again. Would hate to tempt the real Ripper out of retirement to prove you wrong.”

“Is that a threat? Are you going to kill as the Ripper?”

“Do you want to put me in a position where I feel I have to try to save someone else? That’s entrapment, Jack.” Will spins slowly, small smile on his face. “And I’m on the court record as being very malleable.”

Jack’s jaw clenches. “I ought to be charging you with your share of his killings, right next to him.”

“You already tried. Can’t charge me twice for the same crimes.”

The knock of room service at the door ends the conversation, Jack leaving before he’s tempted to punch Will, still hungover and no better off than he was.

—

On the stand the next day, both lawyers push into the beginnings of Hannibal and Will’s relationship. Will answers both sides through the frame of Jack Crawford’s desires. From the start, there’s the implication that Hannibal could never do right by Will, because he was asked to keep him off the record, outside of doctor-patient confidentiality, by Jack. It goes on and on, Will answering the defense asking about Hannibal’s crimes with uncertainty, saying he knew Hannibal intimately well, as close as could be expected, but having never been certain, after his confidence was shattered by his own BHSCI imprisonment. Hannibal’s lawyer helps that along by asking if it’s possible Will was motivated to go after Hannibal only to clear his own name and professional pride. Will’s pitch perfect response feels like the other shoe dropping for Jack.

“You say professional pride like I had anything in my life outside of work. Yes, then, yeah, it was professional pride. But that’s all the pride I had. I had a farmhouse, my dogs, and a cellphone that rang whenever Baltimore was showered in some poor fuck’s blood- excuse my language, Your Honor- but, yes, professional pride.”

“Thank you, Mr. Graham. In percents, how certain would you say you are that Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper?”

“Today? Less than 20%. 10%. 8 or 9%.”

“Why?”

“Because a killer like that doesn’t just.. stop. They can’t. Not when they’re that deep in a persona, in a pattern. I have shared a house with Hannibal Lecter for the last seven years, and he has not killed anyone, and the Chesapeake Ripper has not shown up in Cuba.”

“How certain that he was the Ripper were you in 2015 when Mr. Crawford was sending you after him?”

“87% sure.”

Jack leans back in his seat. This is all about to go very very badly. Mentally, he reshuffles the odds that he will have wasted nearly a million dollars, and Hannibal, and Will for that matter, will both waltz out of this courtroom. They’re starting to look pretty awful from Jack’s side.

—

The next three days go on in the same vein. Will is shaky and uncertain on the stand and in view of the court, but Jack watches him stride out to his rental car with none of the burdens he seems to carry on the stand. It’s hell on Jack’s blood pressure. He thinks he might be getting an ulcer.

The next day promises to be the worst. They’ve finally mucked though to the actual charges. All three will be brought up directly before Hannibal, then cross-examined with Will. He had charged Lecter with kidnapping, killing a federal officer, and false identification, because they’d found Will’s Lithuanian visa to Cuba was under William Lecter. Lithuania declined to present marriage records of its citizens. As Jack should have foreseen, this all goes straight to hell.

—

“Dr. Lecter, in New York did you harm a federal officer in your staged escape attempt.”

“No. They were all shot from a separate vehicle.”

“By whom?”

“I believe by the Great Red Dragon.”

“Did he do this at your behest?”

“No. We had been out of contact for upwards of three months at that point.”

“Did you kidnap Will Graham?”

“No. It was in his plan to accompany me to my property in Maine to apprehend the Great Red Dragon.”

“And after you killed Francis Dolerhyde?”

“Will was insensate for a time, and I took him with me. Upon his awakening, I asked him if he’d like to be dropped off somewhere of his choosing, as I was rather done with my wrongful imprisonment. He stated that he was rather done with the FBI as well, and chose to continue to accompany me.”

“And did you provide a false marriage license to the Lithuanian embassy in order to obtain Cuban visas for yourself and Mr. Graham?”

“No. Did my country fail to provide the marriage license to the court?”

“Do you have one?”

“Ah. Ours is from my country. And I believe that this country is in the habit of recognizing Lithuanian marriages.”

“You are legally wed to Will Graham.”

“I believe he put Graham-Lecter on the record.”

Jack walks out of the room.

—

“Mr. Graham, in New York did you harm a federal officer in your staged escape attempt.”

“No. They were shot by Dolarhyde.”

“Did Dr. Lecter coerce you to stay with him at any point.”

“No.” Will looks sullen. “I went quite willingly. The FBI isn’t a.. friendly place for me.”

“Why not?”

“I had resigned and been called back by Jack Crawford. I wasn’t reinstated as a consulting agent, I was just handed cash under the table and thrown into trying to catch Dolarhyde. I had hoped that maybe Cuba would be far enough they wouldn’t come calling me back to catch crazy for them.”

“I understand. Are you legally married to Hannibal Lecter?”

“Yes. And for the record, it’s Count Hannibal Lecter the 8th.” Will twists a smile.

“Was it simply to get a visa?”

“Is asking that in your jurisdiction?”

The lawyer backs down. Will’s hackles seem to smooth over a little bit, and he adjusts his glasses with shaking hands. Jack curses under his breath.

— 

Over the next three weeks, Jack gives up listening in on Will and Hannibal’s talks. They’re banally domestic, and knowing they’re legally married is like a knife to Jack’s gut. Hannibal is pronounced not guilty of any of the new charges. Tattlecrime runs an awful article about the farce that comes close to libel, again. 

The court turns to back to Hannibal’s charge as the Ripper, deciding what his escape, staged as it were, should count toward his sentence. They’re settling on not counting it as time served, but counting it as years toward parole eligibility, when Freddie Lounds turns up.

—

She’s not at court this time, but in Hannibal’s old backyard, crucified. The woman who had brought it called it in at about 7:30, looking out her back window to see a red-headed Judas nailed into a tree. Jack shows up at 8:15 and calls Will, anger and fear bubbling up. He hasn’t seen a crime scene like this in nearly a decade, and he never wanted to again. Will is surprised, and asks if Jack is sure he wants Will to come see it. Jack is sure. He’ll be able to tell if it’s Will’s work when he sees Will’s reaction to it.

The steady quiet reminds Jack too much of Randall Trier, and Jack curses the swift realization that comes after, that asking Will to look absolves Will of any standing charges. He can’t be cross-examined about the corpse anymore.

“She cut her hair.” Will stares up at Freddie’s blue and red streaked body, red hair shorter than it used to be.

“Is it the Ripper.”

“Sure looks like him.” Will tilts his head and takes three steps back to see the scene in full. A tech walks in to swipe Freddie’s body for evidence, and Jack calls them back before he thinks about it. He looks surprised, but backs up, out of Will’s line of sight. “But I haven’t seen a Ripper in nearly a decade. I’d have to look at my old files again, be positive.”

“I’d let you do that.”

Will nods absently. “Where’s the accusation? The title?” He gestures above her head, where the tree bark is untouched.

“Her laptop was at the base of the tree. Open to Tattlecrime’s latest article. You can read it on your phone, we haven’t been able to shut it down yet.”

Will nods and pulls it up. The article is a stunner, with a full photo of Freddie’s body, reported on like any other crime, written fully in her voice.

“This is a masterwork.” Will mumbles. “He’s been planning this, harboring it. She wrote about him before, but he wasn’t- he couldn’t do it then. He had to wait for the vision to come and when it did…” 

“Sir, can we swab the scene now?” One of the techs calls.

Jack nods, and Will sends a glance at them. “Price and Zeller retire?”

“Yes. Years ago. They took your loss personally.”

“Well, send them a card, I’m not dead.” Will turns to leave. 

He gets nearly to the gate before Jack hollers after him “Graham!” Will stops but doesn’t turn, and the tech look over. So this is the Will Graham they’ve heard so much about. “I asked if this was the Ripper.”

“I told you, it’s been a decade since I’ve seen him, I’m not sure.”

“Well, get sure, and tell me.”

Will mocks a salute and strides out to significant looks between the techs. They have a lot to talk about now.

—

Will get the other details as the court breaks for lunch. He’d only had good opportunity to drop the bombshell that Jack had called him to a theorized Ripper scene that morning about ten minutes before. He heads back in after lunch break, satisfied with the awful sandwich he’d bought and the sight of Jack getting chewed out for letting him see Freddie nailed up.

A perfect time for a second, more personal, burst of fire.

Will sidles up, hunching over and pretending not to remember Director Purnell. “Jack? I had a minute over lunch, I think if I could see Lounds’ body again, I could tell you-“

To his joy, he doesn’t even get to finish before Purnell steps in. “Absolutely not. Jack will not be bothering you again, don’t worry. We would hate to put more stress on you, and possibly compromise the investigation.”

Jack bullheads his way into a question. “Where were you last night. Around dinnertime?”

Will looks taken aback. “I had dinner with Dr. Chilton.”

“You had dinner with Chilton? That’s your alibi? You expect me to believe that?”

Will takes a step back and says “Ask him! We parted on bad terms, I wasn’t in the best mental state, I wanted to apologize-“

Director Purnell swoops down on Jack. “Jack Crawford! I cannot believe the gall of you-“

Will slinks away under her tirade, this round of the game a fell victory for him.

—

The discovery of Freddie Lounds’ body throws the court into disarray, both sides agreeing to adjourn for the afternoon to get their cases together. Will putzes around Baltimore, visits Hannibal, buys some more clothes, and texts Jack at 5:30, old persona reading only in text. 

“sorry i mentioned lounds in front of purnell. i know you need to close the case, & i really don’t mind looking at it again” “if you want/need my eyes on it.”

Jack calls a gratifyingly short time later, and sneaks Will in after hours. 

—

The lab techs are the only thing that seems to have changed about the BSU’s lair. 

“Catch him up.” Jack snaps, and heads down to his office.

“You’re Will Graham.” The brunette man from this morning states.

Will slips off his glasses. “That’d be me. Will Graham with the magic brain. Will Graham the killer. Take your pick.” In the low light, his sharp eyes gleam out from under the dark circles developing under them.

All three wisely choose not to announce their choice. “Well, uh, she’s Freddie Lounds, author and CEO of Tattlecrime. Was 39 at the time of her death. Approximate, uh, exact time, about 7:30 pm yesterday, uh, December 17th.”

Will sighs internally. Approximate exact time. Either this persona is scarier than he took credit for or Jack has hired fools. He cuts off the recitation of Lounds’ banal stats. 

“Any missing organs.”

“Uh.. several feet of lower intestine and her tongue.”

Will leans against an empty table. “Then he appreciated the guts it took for her to wag her tongue like that online.”

Three blank stares. “Or he was in the mood for sausage.”

The blonde on the left makes a face. Will smirks. “Take your pick.”

“Did the Ripper really eat his victims?”

“Who do you believe is the Ripper? Able Gideon, me, Fredrik Chilton, or Hannibal Lecter?”

“Why?”

“Because Gideon wouldn’t, I’d eat them raw, Chilton would’ve savored them alone, and Hannibal would’ve fed them to other people.”

“Oh.”

“Luckily for me, eating the organs the Ripper took raw would have killed me long ago. So it’s not me.”

The short one in the middle pipes up “Does Jack think you’re the Ripper?”

Will stares him down for a second, sussing him out. The tech flinches first.

“Jack thinks I killed Freddie Lounds to cover for Hannibal being the Ripper.”

“And did you?”

“I’m not the Ripper, Evan.”

Evan blanches. “What- how’d you know my name?”

“Your file has your name on it. How’s the rebound relationship going?” Will decides, fuck it, he might as well go full Sherlock Holmes and scare the shit out of this guy. “She doesn’t quite make up for mommy dearest dead, but you’re not the type to dig her up again and keep her.” Evan looks like his heart has skipped a few beats.

The taller brunette on the right- Gabe- takes a threatening step toward Will. “How’d you know all that shit, huh?”

Will answers mildly as the door slides open. “That’s how my empathy works. I look at you, I know you. And all your secrets, all your ticks.” Jack steps into the room behind the techs, arms crossed.

“Is it a Ripper?”

“Yes, Jack. That’s the Ripper. I told you not to gloat and it was in the Washington Post.”

Jack sighs. “That wasn’t me.”

“Regardless.”

“What else have you found?”

Will doesn’t move from the back table he’s leaning against, still half-surrounded by the tech crew. “Not at lot. He’s always had fuzzy edges. But the article, the organ removal, and the display, all says him.”

“No chance of it being the copycat?”

“You charged me as being the copycat. I think I’d know my own work.”

“So?”

“No, Jack, I did not murder and display Freddie Lounds.”

Jack doesn’t look happy about that answer. 

Will pushes himself up off the table and walks over. “The display was pure Ripper. Less gaudy than some of his works, but artistic all it’s own.” He holds up a piece of paper, a printout of the scene in full, then pulls a photo of a Peter Paul Rubens’ crucifixion painting out, holding them up. The solitary, redheaded Jesus in the photo is disturbingly similar to Freddie’s display. 

“So where’s the rest of the sounder?”

“The two robbers that were crucified next to Jesus? Probably crucified on a hilltop somewhere.”

Jack sighs.

Jack’s phone rings. Will almost smiles. Evan looks aghast at him, terrified that Jack is going to pick up and say they’ve found two bodies on a hilltop.

—

Will can’t go to see the two bodies on the hilltop, due back in court to testify on Hannibal’s behavior in Cuba. It doesn’t make Jack’s day any better, because he gets back to the Quantico after a long day driving out to Lorton to see two more Ripper kills to find Director Purnell in his office.

“So you let Will Graham into this building to look at Freddie Lounds’ body and you knew, knew, that it was wildly, wildly inappropriate to do so? He’s falling apart on the stand, making these awful quips about death and art, and our charges are about to fall apart because Alana Bloom -and don’t get me started on that woman- signed off on letting Hannibal leave the BSHCI and didn’t put a return date on the slip. Legally, the whole goddamn time he was cavorting off in Cuba with Graham, Lecter was Graham’s charge.” 

Jack gets a migraine almost instantly. Will is playing him for a goddamn fool.

He takes a deep breath and quickly tallies up all the pieces at play.

1\. Will had chosen Hannibal over his morals and the FBI somewhere during the Great Red Dragon case.

2\. Will had arranged to take Hannibal out of custody and run away.

3\. Will had succeeded in doing this and vanished for seven years, legally marrying Hannibal Lecter at some point.

4\. — No, something didn’t add up right.

1\. Will had chosen Hannibal over his morals and the FBI sometime when Jack was pushing him to apprehend the Ripper. Jack is still certain Hannibal is the Ripper.

2\. Will is not only aware of Hannibal’s tendencies but enabling and hiding him, quite possibly from Randall Trier onward.

3\. Will had been playing Jack like a fool ever since- but then the 3 year gap to the Dragon didn’t make sense.

Domestic dispute. Jack doesn’t even want to acknowledge the thought.

4\. Will had ended the fight by making up with Hannibal and breaking him out with the Dragon as a guise.

5\. Will had willingly gone to Cuba to get out of Jack’s jurisdiction.

6\. Will had arranged for it to be very hard to bring Hannibal back in chains and keep him.

7\. Will is playing the fool for the court today and damming Jack himself.

The migraine spikes.

8\. Will has killed Freddie Lounds to cast doubt on Hannibal’s initial charge.

9\. The Chesapeake Ripper is not one man anymore, but two. Graham and Lecter both.

10\. The Ripper, as one, wants Jack to be punished.

Jack sighs, caving to Director Purnell’s hard stare. Everyone that could testify to the relationship between Will and Hannibal is dead, vanished off the grid or otherwise compromised. Jack doesn’t believe Will’s alibi of dinner with Chilton, even if Chilton repeats it under oath. 

“Well, Jack, anything you have to say for yourself?”

“This isn’t going as planned. Graham is playing me for a fool and I fell for it.”

“Playing you? I think you’ve pushed him to the breaking point. I think it’s well within his rights to snap back when he’s protected by the courts. When this is over, I think we’ll have to take a closer look at your work here.”

—

Jack shows up at Will’s hotel room at 6am the next day, gun tucked away. If Will thinks Jack’s options for justice are tied, he needs to remember that Jack fought Hannibal to the ground in Florence.

Will looks surprised to see him, hair still wet from the shower and shirt half-unbuttoned. He pushes his hair back and Jack sees the scar high on his forehead that’s been hidden by Will’s fringe this whole time. It’s a bit of a jolt to see, but just adds to Jack’s convictions.

“Jack, good morning?”

“May I come in?”

Will steps back. “Staying for breakfast this time?”

Jack shrugs off his jacket, revealing his gun. “Might as well. I wanted to talk. Man to man.”

Will smiles, sits down opposite him. “A Mano y Mano, hmm? I’ve never been good at those, Jack. I’m no safari big-game hunter like you.”

“What kind of hunter are you?”

“I’m a fisherman. I cast my lines and wait for one of them to get nibbled on. Admittedly didn’t cast a line this far north, since I’d caught my white whale already.”

“The Ripper.”

“Hannibal. Not the Ripper.”

“Hannibal is the Ripper.”

“Chilton is the Ripper.”

“Will..”

“That’s what Miriam Lass said. That’s the best I can give you. You sound like you need somebody to be the Ripper. Somebody is. It just isn’t somebody you know.”

“When I sent you after Hannibal. I knew it was him. You yourself were sure it was him.”

“I wasn’t even sure I wasn’t when I told you that. I fixated. I spun out of control, my brain was on fire, leaking out of my ears and I fixated on the man you’d appointed as my paddle, Jack.”

Jack sits back. “You really believe that?”

“I really believe you need to believe you didn’t build me like this.”

Jack sighs and looks away. “Who’s your white whale then?”

“Hannibal.”

“How.” Jack spreads his hands. “I don’t understand.”

“He and I understand each other. Better than Molly ever understood me. Which is good. Well, better. For the best, anyway. And we balance each other out well. You’d like our house. It feels like a home. Like us.”

“I can’t picture you.”

Will shrugs. “They’ll release Hannibal in a day or two. Then you’ll see. Tell Interpol to give us back our wedding rings. They didn’t think they were real.”

“Will….”

“Jack.”

“They’re not going to release Hannibal. I won’t let that happen.”

“Hell of a job you’re doing.”

“If I have to put you away too, I will.”

“You don’t want to put me away. I’m just as dangerous behind bars as I am in front of them. You brought the gun because you’re under the impression shooting me would make you feel better. You brought the gun because you thought you’d scare me with it. Because I’d think of you going after Hannibal and ending up in the pantry with a glass shard in your jugular. You can’t really think this fight is going to end with your position on the chessboard we’ve been playing on for a decade or more now any better than when you started your move?”

Will stands up, leaning forward over the table a little bit. “There’s no way. Hannibal and I are too good together for the likes of you. All your old, potential allies are our assured allies, because we already have them painted in our colors.”

“Is this a confession?”

“No. I have nothing to confess to you. My soul is pure before God.” Will spreads his arms, looking like a baroque painting in the morning light with the mad glint in his eye. Jack reaches for his gun and Will gathers himself in, suddenly poised to fight. Jack doesn’t touch the gun.

They’re silent for the next few minutes, and when room service comes, Will takes the covered tray with a silent smile and a tip, then holds the door open for Jack.

“Every time you call to threaten me is another strike against you in the eyes of the FBI and Director Purnell. Hannibal and I will be called to testify when you are court marshaled. And you know, when the FBI calls me, I always go to see the body.”

Jack leaves feeling sick and isn’t at all surprised when Will leaves ten minutes later, following him to the prison. He flashes his FBI badge in time to get on the line to monitor Will and Hannibal’s conversation live.

—

“Uncle Jack paid me a visit this morning.”

“Uninvited? Rude. And you know what I think of that sort of behavior.”

“I don’t even want to get close enough to teach him better. He brought his gun. To threaten me. I asked him if he remembered what happened when he tried that with you. He did, didn’t care. Didn’t think I’d also throw a kitchen knife into his hand if given half a cause to do it.”

Hannibal laughs. “Don’t incriminate yourself now.”

“’S not probable cause ‘till I’ve done it.”

“Is that the FBI’s thinking?”

“With the kind of lawyers you hire? Yeah.”

“Oh, Will. I’m sorry it’s taken so long.”

“This? This is short. I’m just glad Jack is the only one. I couldn’t stand if Alana was here looking worried at me. Or Bev, Price and Zeller. Jack’s got some fresh meat in there. No sense of humor.”

“They didn’t appreciate having a Ripper kill in front of them? Most would jump.”

“They didn’t like my explanation of motive as liking the guts it took to wag her tongue like that.”

Hannibal laughs. “Your way with words is perhaps an acquired taste.”

Will smiles, wide and bright. “You’re non-verbal before coffee, then spout metaphors. I think you’re stranger here.”

“Perhaps. I cede.” Jack can hear the smile. He wants to scream. They’re half a turn of phrase away from admitting to a crime, but they’ll toe the line as long as they can. Jack doesn’t know how to get one of them to slip, now that he can’t lever one against the other. Maybe he is out of his league.

—

Two days later, Hannibal is walking out of the court bathroom in a change of clothes Will brought for him that morning. Hannibal greets Will with a chaste kiss, and Jack turns away from them both. It physically hurts to look at, to see how twisted up in each other they are without the necessary separation of handcuffs and a courtroom. They both turn to him, and Hannibal heads over, Will splitting to catch Director Purnell, affecting half his old, hurt persona as he does.

“Jack.”

“Hannibal.” Jack declines the handshake.

Hannibal folds his hands under his jacket again. “You set a trap too big to spring yourself, didn’t you?”

“Seems like I did.”

“I’d be less upset if you hadn’t asked dear Will to help spring it.”

“Yes.”

“There will be an inquiry.”

“Yes.”

Hannibal nods. His unspoken threat hangs just as heavy as Will’s outright one from the morning. Jack’s head is due on a plate.

Will heads back over toward them, smiling at Purnell as he goes and nodding. 

“Well, Hannibal, I think we owe Jack. Should we have him for dinner? Not tonight, but tomorrow or Thursday? You’ll hate the shithole the FBI shelled out for, so we’ll have to get a suite somewhere else.”

Hannibal nods at his spouse. “I think so. Jack? Will has your contact information, I believe?”

“He does.”

“But will you come when I call?”

Jack chokes down his pride. “I think you’ve come for my calls enough I owe you the courtesy of a social call.”

Will and Hannibal nod in sync, a gesture that Will must have picked up from Hannibal, and take their leave.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first real, published fic since about 2011, and it was very fun to stretch these old muscles and write this. I've got more in the pipeline too, so I guess we're going all in now that we're going again. :)


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